


Hands

by plothound



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Armor, Armor Kink, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Fisting, Gangbang, Groping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plothound/pseuds/plothound
Summary: A squad of death troopers has been given an easy assignment as reward for a job well done, and they know exactly what to do with their unprecedented free time.





	Hands

The squad was not used to budgeting its own time outside of missions. On missions, operating independently with no contact with superiors, coordinators, or Imperial Intelligence was a fact of life, but once they returned to Imperial soil or ships, they received schedules, perfectly planned down to the minute to optimize their performance. Exercise, food intake, supplements, hygiene, maintenance, training, briefings, and sleep were all fitted neatly into place. It was a comforting thing, never having to make a decision, especially given that missions meant constantly making decisions, usually with immediate life-and-death consequences. Imperial scheduling lifted that burden while they weren’t on assignment.

 

Out here on Qiilura, things were different. As primary producer of luxury vegetable foodstuffs for the Core Worlds, the planet had vast economic value and demanded a military presence, but the fact remained that that value was based on the planet’s population of agricultural workers, who lived in poverty and were in no condition to rebel. There had been an uprising during the Clone Wars, when the population was under CIS control by way of Neimoidians and the Republic had equipped them with weapons, but the Empire had no patience with aliens, and the Neimoidians were long gone. Qiilura’s farmers were content to be dominated, as long as it was by humans. 

 

Still, the expansive income that the planet produced for the Empire had to be protected in kind, if only for show, and in addition to a small complement of troops, Imperial command rotated various elite squads and commanders through the base, usually as a reward for accomplishments; an assignment to Qiilura amounted to a vacation. That was how death trooper squad Epsilon-Seven had ended up here, after a highly successful coup on Dxun that had effectively wiped out the local population of Rebellion-leaning Mandalorians. They had been here for three weeks of unprecedented freedom, with their days only loosely mapped out, and had three weeks yet to go.

 

The squad had completed its morning assignment of light exercise, which left a large blank space in their schedule until evening maintenance. They all knew exactly how they intended to fill that space. No one had to say anything.

 

Epsilon-Seven had always been a little… deviant. Not in missions, of course, that was unthinkable—they obeyed as perfectly and as unthinkingly as any other squad, executing orders to the letter and accomplishing priorities with brutal efficiency—but during downtime, the usual squad-only activities were typically supplemented with other, strictly forbidden activities. 

 

Sex was violently against regulations. It had been ingrained in each of them from a young age that sexual urges were a weakness, one that civilians indulged, but soldiers absolutely did not. It was a corrupting influence, one that damaged a soldier’s commitment and performance, and any trooper who engaged in such activities would be fiercely reprimanded, and a repeat offender would be forcibly altered to ensure compliance in the future. 

 

Epsilon-Seven had discovered early on, entirely by chance, that this only applied to death troopers. Upon further research, they discovered that their training module on matters of personal health and hygiene never explicitly stated that the entire Imperial military was subject to these regulations, but it had certainly been implied, and they had all believed it, right up until they walked in on a squad of older trainees from a standard trooper division in the refreshers, deeply engaged in activities that involved stimulation of each other’s genitals. 

 

The squad had talked it over, and after a great deal of consideration, had decided to try it out. The results had been spectacular, and it quickly became a well-concealed staple of the squad’s allotted sleep hours. Sometimes they simply lay in their bunks, each of them with a hand between his own legs, drawing comfort and arousal from the knowledge that the others were all doing the same, and other times, they would slip into each other’s bunks, and things would get more intense.

 

Qiilura had provided them with plenty of time for the second variety, and with no other death troopers present, and the base’s commanding officer being the laid-back sort she was, none of them particularly feared discovery or being reported. 

 

ADT-5788 could already feel a hard, hot clenching in his abdomen as they returned to their room. They moved in formation out of instinct, in a square with the captain in front of them, and he was in the front line of the square. He imagined that he could feel 64 and 21 looking at him from behind, already planning what they were going to do. The best part was that it was not impossible, not even unlikely. 44, next to him, was probably not looking, and 92, the captain, certainly was not, but 64 and 21 had an unobstructed view, and if 88 had been in their place, he would most definitely have been looking. As it was, he was looking at 92, the ramrod-straight back, boots striking home solidly and neatly, plating moving smoothly with his body. He knew what sensitive flesh lay just beneath the protective layers of armor and reinforced bodysuit, and in his mind he was touching it.

 

Then they were in the room, and 21 was at the panel, closing the door and setting it to alert them before opening. They had never been interrupted, never even come close to being caught, they were all too thorough for that, but that was no reason to take a risk now. 88 waited, heart rate already well up with anticipation, for someone to make a move.

 

“Plates off.” 92’s command was simple, direct, and free of inflection. It was also transmitted neatly through their helmet comms, unable to be heard by anyone not on the secure comm channel. That might or might not change, depending on what mood everyone was in.

 

88 didn’t have to ask whom the command was directed to. He detached gauntlets, vambraces, bicep plates, pauldrons, greaves, knee plates, and cuisses with practiced ease, setting them on his bunk. Then came the breastplate and backplate, separate abdominal plate, belt, codplate, rear plate, all cast off, until he was standing in his bodysuit and helmet, the muscles of his gut squeezing with anticipation, half-hard, little nervous movements passing through him.

 

Large, gauntleted hands gripped his ass. “Delicious,” came the low hiss over the comm. 64 had sustained an injury to his vocal cords early in life, and his voice had never recovered. “I watched this all through the run, and all the way back here.” 88 squirmed into the touch a little, delighted to know that his suspicions were right.  _ “Wiggle,”  _ 64 rasped. “Wiggle, you little gizka.”

 

92 tossed a heavy pack onto a bunk—21’s—and sat on the edge of the bunk, leaning back to use the pack like a backrest. He sprawled comfortably. “Get off of him,” he said calmly. “Take it off, Eight.”

 

64 backed up obediently, and 88 took off his helmet before he reached for the seals of his bodysuit. Normally he unsealed it straight down the middle and took it off in one movement, by far the quickest option, but at the moment, he exercised his self-control enough to detach it piece by piece. Gloves, lower arms, feet, lower legs. He folded each piece before moving on to the next. Upper arms, thighs. He could hear 44 shifting behind him. He could sympathize; he was half-hard beneath the suit. Upper torso, folded more sloppily than the rest, skin pebbling a little in the cool air. Then, finally, lower torso, unsealed along the line from his genitals to his navel, peeled down his legs, stepped out of, groin pulsing with arousal but pulling back a little at the chill, held up. He folded it neatly, perfectly, taking the time to line up edges, knowing what his delay was doing to the squad, and set it down with the rest of his gear.

 

“Tease,” came 21’s voice in the crackling hiss of the helmet’s external audio. 88 felt himself flush a little.

 

“Open him up, Forty-four.” 

 

92’s voice was relaxed, conversational, but 44’s hands were anything but. They gripped 88’s waist with fervor, squeezing hard at the muscle there, and then they slipped down, spreading his cheeks and slipping a finger in without preamble. “Fuck,” 44 breathed. The captain didn’t often assign him to a central role—44 was often relegated to sitting back and watching. 

 

88 leaned forward a little and shifted his feet apart for better access. The metal of the prefab floor was cold and utterly unyielding. He hoped that he would be lying on it soon. In the meantime, a finger protected by a bodysuit glove and the carefully articulated plates of a gauntlet was working its way into him. It had hurt before, a sharp, stinging pain that had made him wince away, but he was more accustomed to it now, after years of practice, and he felt only anticipation. 

 

“Soft,” 44 whispered. “Soft like civvy clothes back here.” He forced a second finger in—too soon, and that did sting, but 88 didn’t mind—and probed, stretching, sliding, exploring. “Soft, stretchy,  _ used  _ to it, you  _ like  _ that, don’t you, like being all wet and open—”

 

88’s cock twitched, well on its way to full hardness. 44’s fingers were thick with armor. How thoroughly used did his ass have to be for 44 to be able to feel its softness through heavy plating? His core was protesting a little at his awkward lean forward, but he didn’t care. He was a death trooper. Pain was nothing.

 

“Don’t go too fast,” 92 said. He had a hand on his codplate, rubbing absently. “I want him leaking before we get in him.”

 

44 obliged hastily, slacking off a little on the stretch and focusing on movement. Thrusts, yes, typical fare, but also more targeted movements, fingers that slipped in and out and rubbed against the front of his hole all the while, spying out irregularities, sensitive places. 88 knew what he was looking for, and he knew how to cant his hips so his squad brother would find it faster, but he stayed still. 92 had said to go more slowly, and they would.

 

Still, 44 found it quickly, and 88 shivered when fingers pressed into his prostate. “There,” 44 breathed. “Yeah. That’s it.” He pressed harder, and 88 felt his cock drip.  _ “Yeah.  _ Yeah. There. Get wet. Show me. Go on.” Another, firmer press, and 88 gave a low sigh and dripped again.

 

“That’ll do.” 92 was still sliding his fingers in casual circles on his codplate, not in pursuit of anything in particular. He detached the plate and set it aside before going back to rubbing, and used his other hand to point between his spread legs.

 

88 dropped to his knees immediately and got into place, his hands on 92’s cuisses. He looked up for confirmation, and 92 nodded.

 

88 went to work with his mouth eagerly. 92 had different anatomy than the rest of them, with a tiny little cock and an opening where his balls should be. 88 was vaguely aware that this approximated the female configuration, but he paid it no mind. He went in with his lips and tongue on the bodysuit, tasting of sweat and the dust of the base’s yard as it did. He could only dimly map out the form of 92’s slit and cock through the suit, but he was well acquainted with the area, and focused where he knew it would bring his brother pleasure.

 

“Twenty-one, get under him,” 92 said, giving no sign that 88 was having any particular effect on him.

 

21 dropped to a squat, and then to the floor, and shimmied himself in under 88’s ghost-pale naked body. Black-armored hands reached up and ran over 88’s torso. They all looked nearly as similar out of armor as they did in it, all desperately pale skin that had never seen the sun, stretched over tissues that had been stripped nearly to bare muscle and bone. Weight was expensive in space, and the diet of the Empire’s elite soldiers had been designed to mesh perfectly with their activity and exercise regimen to keep body fat at a bare minimum, maximizing the useful weight. A little careful genetic manipulation had ensured tall, narrow builds, keeping the reach advantage without sacrificing weight. The scars they bore were old, from early training—upon reaching adult size, they had donned armor, and that armor almost never came off, minimizing injuries that broke the skin—but they still sported bruises, the usual currency of a trooper’s experience. Their heads and bodies were kept chemically hairless to minimize discomfort in the thick bodysuit. In situations where hair would be useful, in disguise or in a cold environment, they could stop taking the depilatories, but none of them had yet been in such a situation. The only points of difference between them were subtle inconsistencies in face and body, and the squad liked it that way.

 

“Get in him.” 92 sounded almost lazy.

 

21 had switched on his external audio, continuous transmission, and 88 resisted the urge to rub himself up against his brother when he heard how hard he was breathing. 21 detached his codplate and tossed it to the side before rushing to open the bodysuit’s crotch seal and free himself with a deep, sighing groan.

 

88 couldn’t resist dipping his hips then, sliding his cock up against 21’s. He moaned softly into 92’s groin, and was gratified to hear 21 react more strongly. There was hot, hard length against him, and he pressed lower still, so that their cocks were trapped neatly between their bodies. 21 shuddered underneath him. 88 gave the faint curve of 92’s cock a wet suck before he breathed, “You like that?”

 

92’s fingers webbed across the back of his skull and pushed him back into position. “Stay focused, little brother.” He settled deeper against the pack and sighed. “Go on, Twenty.”

 

21 slipped out from under 88’s torso. His cock slid free and sprung back a little before slapping back against 88’s ass. He rubbed himself up against 88 a little before reaching down and guiding himself in.

 

The moment of penetration was always intense. Armored fingers were one thing, but a bare cock, hot and hard and pulsing inside of him, was entirely different. 21’s cock was a bit of a stretch, and it felt… 

 

88 moaned and pressed himself down onto the cock, trying not to let up in his ministrations as he did so. He knew he had to keep up on 92, but 21 was inside him, and he wanted nothing more than for him to start thrusting. But 21 would wait for the captain’s orders, as always. He was a good soldier. They all were.

 

92 reached down and unsealed the crotch of his bodysuit. The scent of his built-up arousal hit 88 hard, and he couldn’t stop himself from diving straight in like a man dying of thirst, taking the little cock in his mouth and reveling in the sensation of heat and wet slick in his face. The cock was held back somewhat by a little hood, but it was still available to suck, and 88 did so with gusto. He knew by a slight shift that the muscles of 92’s thighs were clenching hard, that beneath the armor, corded muscle was straining as a result of his work. That was a joy that 88 experienced anew every time he pleasured a brother. He drew the flat of his tongue sloppily up 92’s slit before going back to his cock.

 

92 nudged 21 with one booted foot, and 21 responded immediately and with considerable force, using the full strength of his hips to slam himself hard up into 88’s ass. 88 moaned again.  _ Oh,  _ yes, that was what he had been waiting for. He angled himself as well as he could in the short moment before 21’s next thrust, and adjusted himself carefully between the next few as well before it finally hit home, familiar cock driving itself up into his prostate like a ram.

 

“Keep going,” 92 said, his hand keeping 88’s head between his legs. His voice was a little breathy, now.

 

21 kept at it, but so did 88. Despite the cock now pounding away efficiently, tirelessly in his ass, he continued to suck and lick. His fingers dug in hard against 92’s cuisses, leaving no mark in the armor. He could feel his back and hips twisting and flexing, wallowing in the pleasure that was going off in his ass.  _ Ugh,  _ 21 was almost mechanical in his consistency, hitting that spot over and over and over and over, striking like a hammer. He wanted to collapse and lie there while 21 turned him into an ejaculate-spattered mess, but there were his other brothers to think of. He kept his lips wrapped firmly around 92’s cock.

 

“Forty, you’re up. Get on top.”

 

The sound of furious stroking that 88 realized had been in the background suddenly stopped, and 44 dropped to his armored knees behind 88, knees inside 88’s spread legs but outside of 21’s. Familiar hands gripped his ass again, kneading and squeezing what flesh they could reach. A cock pressed against his thigh.

 

“Open him up more. Finger first.”

 

21 didn’t slow. 88 hadn’t expected him to. One of 44’s hands held 88’s hips firmly still, and a finger of the other prodded at his ass, probing and pushing and prying until the tip slipped in alongside 21’s cock. 88 shuddered, and he heard 44 give a shaky sigh. The finger forced its way in, the cock pulling it deeper with every thrust, the rounded edge of each plate of armor popping in a knuckle at a time, until it got deep enough to hook itself in, its position no longer controlled by the cock. Now it rubbed and massaged his walls, teasing his insides into opening up wider and wider, and wider still, until he was clenching and straining for more.

 

“Another finger. Get him wide.”

 

At this stage, 88 felt that he could take a rotary cannon up his ass if it would only satisfy his need, but when 44 squeezed in a second finger, he moaned at the stretch.  _ Oh,  _ he was so open, fingers and still-thrusting cock pulling him taut. 

 

“Yeah?” 44 breathed. “That too much for you? Is it?” He curled his fingers a little, spreading 88’s interior wider. “No, look at you, all sloppy and loose, you can take more.” 

 

A third finger pressed hard against his stretched-tight rim, and then harder. 88 tried to relax his hole more, but all he did was clench up uselessly around 21’s thrusting cock and 44’s questing fingers before releasing again. He sunk his lips as far down onto 92’s cock as he could and whined like an akk, bony spine bowing involuntarily so that his ass stuck out farther and the hard strikes against his prostate eased up a little. The fingers inside him spread out like a hydrospanner, trying to open him up further, but when the third finger finally forced its way in, it was from brute force, and 88 almost let go of 92’s cock, arms trembling and belly fluttering with hot, fast breaths.

 

“Faster,” 92 said, and 88 was dimly gratified to hear that his voice was heavy and strained.  _ “Suck.”  _

 

88 plowed in messily, chin dripping with 92’s wetness. He could feel the captain’s pulse under his lips, hard and fast, and over that, the stronger, slower rhythm of muscles contracting desperately, tensing and releasing in furious need. He was dimly aware of armored thighs shuddering on either side of his head, of the abdominal plate surging with labored breathing in front of him.

 

The fingers on his head dug in a little. “Back off.” He obeyed immediately. “Good.” 92’s voice was full of lust. “All right, then, Forty. Get in.”

 

The fingers in his ass pulled out too quickly, and 88 moaned. They were replaced with the pressure of a hard, wet head against his ass. It rubbed back and forth across him for a time, 44 panting hard, 21’s cock slamming home at a steady beat, and then it squeezed up against his hole, newly stretched and ready. He still clenched around 21, loosely, sloppily, but he wanted to scream and beg to be filled up full again,  _ fuller _ .

 

“Down here.” 92’s voice was still drawn taut, near to breaking, but his hand guided 88’s head neatly to the squeezing, dripping opening below his cock. 88 pressed in with his tongue with an urgent need.

 

44 began to move in, driving slowly, shakily against 88’s hole. He went forward and forward and forward, further than 88 would have thought possible, before the ring of muscle finally relented, and he was in.

 

88 made a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Oh, he was full. He was  _ so full.  _ 21 was still pounding away, unrelenting, but 44 wasn’t moving yet, was just kneeling there, panting, black-plated hands kneading at 88’s hips, and 88 was more than happy to take the time to adjust. He tried to imagine what he might look like, stretched furiously around two cocks, used hole straining to accommodate them. He wanted to collapse bonelessly onto 21’s armored body, let his hammering thrusts pound his insides open while 44 fucked more erratically, but he kept himself more or less upright, though his arms were shaking violently. His spread thighs quivered. He was so full. He was so full. The part of him in his belly that needed it was singing joyously. He’d only had two of his brothers in him at once like this a few times, and each time it had been utterly overwhelming. He was undulating a little, he knew that, body trying to find a position where he wasn’t being pushed to his limits and failing miserably. He made another broken little noise, and 92’s hand on his head clenched at the same time that his hole did around 88’s tongue.

 

Then 44 started moving, and 88 lost his focus long enough to pull his head away from its assigned location when his spine curved sharply and a moan that wobbled drunkenly between pitches drooled out of him. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open, and his fingers were digging at the floor in useless desperation. He wanted to say something along the lines of “harder,” but what came out was a string of half-words that, to his ears, even with the clipped, precise quality of the Imperial accent, sounded something like “mmm yesfuck oh  _ please _ fuck _ nnnn _ hard _ ohhh.”  _ 44 gave some kind of desperate groan in response and picked up the pace, thrusts shaky and shallow.

 

92’s hand pulled him back into place. “Keep going.”

 

88 did his best. He was being split open and 44 was throbbing hot and hard inside of him and 21 was  _ still  _ jabbing his prostate with unerring precision with every thrust, but he forced his tongue inside the captain, going up and down and side to side and curling while 92’s cock throbbed insistently against his nose, and he thought he might pass out from the effort. 92’s scent was all around him, and he was drunk on it. Beneath that was sweat and dust and bodysuit and the chemical-metallic smell of armor, tinged with the ozone of blaster fire that saturated all of their equipment, and somewhere beneath that was Imperial soap from their last dip in the refreshers, and  _ oh fuck he was so full.  _

 

44 slammed home and moaned, and everyone’s movement stopped, except for 88’s trembling arms.

 

“Damn it, Forty,” 92 grumbled as 44 leaned forward onto 88’s back with a groan. 

 

“Sorry,” 44 whispered. He pressed the face of his helmet between 88’s shoulder blades, and one hand squeezed 88’s shoulder while the other gripped his waist. “Sorry.”

 

21 pulled out.

 

88 thought his entire body was going to give out. His ass felt like it had tried to go with 21’s cock, and now it was doing its best to squeeze wetly around 44 and failing miserably. It couldn’t close up. By the time 88 could hear again, 21 was saying, with just a hint of apology in his voice, “—it was so tight, and I could feel Forty finishing right there against me. There was nothing I could do.”

 

92 sighed. “Get out of him, then. Sixer, your turn.”

 

21 rolled out from under 88, and 44 slipped out unceremoniously and got to his feet, softening cock a stark contrast against the unyielding planes of his armor and the dull, textured surface of his bodysuit. 88’s spread legs struggled to support him.

 

64 took 44’s place immediately. He squeezed 88’s ass. His touch was always hard.

 

“Oh,  _ fuck,”  _ 44 said, as 21 and 92 both sucked in a hard breath.

 

There was a pause, and then 92 nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you can try. Don’t go too far.”

 

88 realized suddenly that 64’s external audio must be off. “What?” he mumbled.

 

64’s hips snapped his groin up against 88’s ass, and his hands were like iron around bony hips. “Going to break you open, little gizka,” he rasped.

 

88 couldn’t help but chuckle weakly, resting his forehead against the edge of the bunk. “You…” He wiped some slick from his chin. “You have something in your drawers I haven’t seen?”

 

“No,” 64 said. He shoved three fingers inside, none too gently. “You’ve seen it.”

 

88 was too tired to press back against the fingers, but his ass did try to clench around them without his input. “Getting a little overconfident, then, aren’t you?”

 

64 added a fourth finger and pushed deep. “No.” He used his other hand to spread 88’s cheeks a little, and squeezed in a little further. “You’ll like it.” He wiggled his fingers, and 88 almost lost control of his legs.  _ “Promise.”  _

 

88 shifted position somewhat, putting his arms up on the bunk. He licked 92 from ass to cock in one long, slow swipe, but 92 pushed him away. “Later.” His voice was tight.

 

88 was starting to get a little nervous, but he trusted his brothers. 64 liked things to hurt, but so did they all. He settled himself into the sensation of four plated fingers in his ass, rounded edges popping in and out past his rim. They spread inside of him, and he sighed appreciatively. Then they were gone. He turned his head a little to the side, but didn’t crane around properly to look.

 

Five bunched fingertips pressed against his entrance, and he moaned in sudden understanding. “Yeah.  _ Yeah.”  _

 

“Glad you like it.” 64’s scarred voice almost purred. “Let’s see if you can take it.” He began squeezing his fingers in.

 

The thumb wasn’t much more of a stretch than four fingers, but with them all bunched together like that, it was less like trying to insert a cock and more like trying to insert a shoulder. 64 quickly gave up on getting all of his fingers in at the same time and instead kept his thumb only just inside while pushing his fingers further in. 88 moaned as the plates of the gauntlet slipped in, one at a time, and then arched his back a little when 64’s fingers were stretched out fully inside him.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Yeah,” 88 breathed. He couldn’t stop himself from wiggling a little in burning anticipation.

 

“All right, then.” 

 

The thumb started to press in further. It was exciting, but it hadn’t gone far before something much wider stopped its progress. The knuckle plate of the gauntlet was thick, designed to take the complete force of a punch, and utterly unyielding. 64 had to work it back and forth against 88’s hole for quite some time before his rim finally managed to stretch around its widest point. 

 

88 let out a small yelp of surprise when the rest of 64’s hand suddenly slipped in. 

 

“Sorry!” 64 rubbed 88’s lower back with his free hand. “Sorry. It just sort of… pulled.”

 

88 gave a wordless groan. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, he thought he’d been full before, with two cocks in him. This was utterly different. The hard plates of 64’s armor were holding his ass open, and he was clenched tight around his brother’s wrist. His  _ wrist.  _ His  _ wrist!  _ There was an entire armored hand inside him. His ass had managed to take it, but his mind wasn’t even close. His cock twitched so hard that it touched his belly, and his groan wobbled into a high-pitched whine. There was a  _ hand…  _ oh, he was so full. So full. He tried to tell 64 to give him more, somehow, he didn’t know how, but he couldn’t make any words, just more animal grunts and groans.

 

“Fuck,” 92 breathed, and 88 realized that his hand was between his legs, rubbing furiously. “Fuck. Sixer, that’s…”

 

“Yeah,” 64 said, and his breathlessness made the torn hiss on his voice even more pronounced. He wiggled his fingers experimentally.

 

88  _ howled.  _ Fuck, he’d just had two cocks in there a few minutes ago, one jabbing repeatedly at his prostate, but those were nothing,  _ nothing,  _ next to this. Every movement of 64’s hand felt amplified, like it was twice its usual size and fucking  _ tickling  _ at his insides, scraping and scrabbling around in there like it was fumbling for a det on a battlefield, and he  _ knew  _ that those fingers had barely moved, but the sensation was immense.

 

44 was on his knees next to 88 in an instant. “Where does it— _ don’t  _ pull it out yet, you stupid nerf, we don’t know what the damage is—where does it hurt, Eight? What kind of pain?” 92’s hands were on the underside of his shoulders, supporting his full weight.

 

88 shook his head rapidly. “Doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t—oh, fuck, do it again.” His voice was slurred.

 

There was a brief moment of silence, and then 21 snorted. Boots moved with 88’s field of view, and a gauntlet clapped him on the shoulder. “You little fucking whore.”

 

44’s helmet pressed down on 88’s back as he leaned on him. “Of all the—you  _ shit,  _ I thought we’d ruptured your bloody  _ fucking  _ intestine. Can you imagine reporting that to the base medic? We’d all be castrated.”

 

_ “Again,”  _ 88 moaned. “Come on.”

 

92 removed his hands from their supporting position with a groan. “Fuck. Just fuck him, Sixer.”

 

64’s voice was a little shaky for a moment, but it quickly regained its usual tone. “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll fuck him. Fuck him wide open.” His hand clenched and pushed in deeper in one motion.

 

88 didn’t yell this time, but it was a near thing. His insides felt like they were stretching around an orbital cannon, and the layered plates of the gauntlet were rubbing their straining tissues. The edge of the vambrace was jammed up against his entrance, his hole squeezing tightly around the textured bodysuit at 64’s wrist. The shift from outstretched hand to closed fist was insane, like it had doubled in size. He wasn’t being stimulated as deeply inside as he had been a moment ago, but the fist was up against his prostate, and he could feel himself leaking. He trembled and shook, and then, suddenly, without his input, he pushed his hips further back.

 

The vambrace forced itself into him, halfway up the forearm, past the comm screen and controls, and he cried out again.  _ “Unnh!”  _

 

44’s hands rubbed over his body, alternating between groping and massaging. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” Hands ran over his hips and ass. “Oh, fuck, you’re doing it.”

 

There were more hands at his other end, squeezing his shoulders and chest, pinching a nipple here and there. 88 was dimly aware that it was 21, and that 92’s hands were busy between his legs, rubbing feverishly.

 

The fist shifted a little inside of him, and he open his mouth and tensed his abdomen like he was about to throw up, but all that came out were more moans of pleasure. He could feel his muscles squeezing hard around 64’s hand, but it was absolutely unyielding. He was so full, his insides struggling to accommodate but at the same time loving it, wanting more stretch, more movement, more stimulation, further in, deeper, fuller.

 

44 gasped sharply. “Oh fuck. Oh,  _ fuck.  _ Twenty. Twenty, feel.” He grabbed 21’s hand and brought it to where his other hand was, low on 88’s belly. “Sixer, move your hand.”

 

64 opened and closed his fist once, twice, three times, and 88 was dimly aware that, over his long, drawn-out, shaky groan, 21 had stiffened and gasped as 44 had. Hands pressed against his belly, one cupping delicately, the other sinking fingers in hard.

 

“What?” 92 said irritably, his hands slowing but not stopping. “What is it?”

 

“You can feel it,” 44 said, and his voice was unsteady. “You can… you can feel him inside.”

 

“What?” 92 repeated in a different tone. He leaned forward, inadvertently trapping 88’s head between his legs, right up against his cock. 88 took it in his mouth out of instinct, too tired to suck properly, and 92 paid him no mind. He slipped a hand down underneath 88’s belly, like a veterinarian checking an animal, and joined 44’s and 21’s hands. 64 did it again, and 92’s cock pulsed hard in 88’s mouth. “Fuck.”

 

64 added his free hand to the group and moved his fingers inside. He made a sharp, choked little noise. “Fuck. Fuck yeah.” His hand moved more strongly, and it didn’t stop. It only pressed deeper, fingers questing and pulling themselves further in like a tach making its way up a tree. The hand on the outside rubbed hard. “Yeah. Oh, my little fucking gizka, you’re so fucking full of me.  _ Look  _ at you.”

 

88 didn’t take in anything else 64 said. He was busy falling apart with stunning pleasure, a fist twisting inside of him, his cock about to explode, hands holding his belly with wonder and awe, more hands touching the rest of his body, running over his back and ass and arms and thighs and chest, pinching and squeezing at sensitive spots, and all he could do was let out a low, continuous whine as 64’s fist shifted back and forth like the galaxy’s absolute biggest cock. Part of him wanted it to be a cock, a huge one, leaking inside of him and getting ready to pump vital fluids so deep he’d never get them out, but part of him loved that it was a hand. There was something so concrete about having a hand in his ass, a hand thick with armor and reinforced fabric. He knew its size, though he’d never thought about it much before, and he tried to imagine what his hole might look like stretched around a forearm, but he had no idea. Obscene, he imagined. Insane. Him, elite soldier of the Empire, his ass pain-taut around a fellow soldier’s powerful arm, balls drawn up tight, cock leaking and poised to release… 

 

64’s knuckles twisted inside of him and rubbed up against his prostate, digging into sensitive flesh, and he cried out when he came in blinding waves of absurd pleasure.

 

He was only vaguely aware of 64 spilling himself in his suit and withdrawing his arm, of 92’s fingers frantically rubbing his little cock until his entire body tensed up and his hole dripped wet, of 44 and 21 lifting him into a bunk and rubbing a bit of bacta gel into his slack ass, which obediently tightened a little. He was a little more aware of someone wiping him down a little with a rag, a temporary measure until their refresher time that night, and he even managed to lift up his hips for easier access to hard-to-reach places, but the closest he came to full consciousness for the next few hours was when they were all gathered around him, having stripped down for a quick bit of extra sleep, and they whispered things to him with gentle voices and gentle hands, touching him, drawing the regulation blanket over him, helping him curl up into his preferred sleeping position, and 92 murmured, “We’ve got six hours of empty schedule tomorrow. Want to try it again?”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm still super horny for death troopers. Still haven't managed to write somebody getting wrecked by one, but this is pretty close. I'll get there someday.


End file.
